The Sword In The Lake
by Galfridus
Summary: Life is hard on the streets of Britannia. Ban is struggling to survive when he meets a woman who appears to want to help him. But what exactly are her intentions?


**The Sword In The Lake**

A/N: This was originally posted for AO3's LeMaskadra. Many thanks indeed to DepressoxEspresso for beta reading this - you are an amazing writer and your comments and suggestions were invaluable.

It is cold and very, very wet. The air is damp with the drizzly sort of rain that gradually soaks through the skin. Ban shivers as he huddles under a rickety bridge, the slats in the wood letting droplets through on either side of where he has carefully positioned himself. He rests squatting on the ground, the smell of moss and dirt surrounding him and he wraps his arms around his knees to ward off the chill. A gnawing pain in his stomach intensifies as his knees meet his torso, the growling rising in volume to an almost unbearable roar.

He is _hungry_ ; ravenous in fact. His shoulders shake involuntarily, his teeth chattering hard and he wonders how long it has been since his last meal. He had eaten nothing since he had left home, horrified beyond words by the death of his sister. So two, maybe three days, if you didn't count the rotten apple that some merchant had chucked at his head, punishment for daring to rest by the side of the road. He had wolfed it down, not caring for the hoots and cackles of laughter, though it had been a mistake: his insides had writhed all the more for the insufficient morsel of food not followed up by more sustenance. If he did not eat soon, he would be in serious trouble.

" _Stop it_ ," he mutters to himself. " _You're no baby._ " But he wants to cry. His run of luck has been particularly bad. First he was caught sneaking a pie off a windowsill, the aroma of almond and cherry too good to resist as it had floated to him on the breeze. The buxom old woman whose pie it was had beaten him to a near pulp with her rolling pin, and his backside was still sore all these days later.

Then he had tried to grab a wallet from a passing shopper, but had delved too deep into the fat man's pockets. The brute had twisted his arm, nearly separating ball from socket as he had yanked Ban high into the air. The boy had needed to bite him hard on the wrist in order to get away, shouts of indignation echoing behind him.

And now here he is, starving and cold, with nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep. The sun must be beginning to set judging by the gathering gloam. It will soon be dark, and it is too cold to survive, he knows; if he does not do something quickly this is the end of his life.

In that desperate moment, Ban thinks about death. He thinks about how good it would feel to not have to trudge on, to scrounge and scavenge and shiver and shake. Maybe it is warm in the land of the dead, like basking in the sun as the ground around him bakes into dust. Maybe there is food, drinks, soft beds and thick blankets. Maybe his sister is there waiting for him, her hand outstretched and a smile on her face, her eyes shining and the livid bruises gone from her cheek.

As he daydreams, Ban feels his eyes start to close, his head falling to his chin as the unbearable ice running through his bones turns fuzzy and comforting and he is washed with light.

The agony he feels on waking is worse than he has felt in his whole life. Every finger and toe is on fire, protesting angrily as he tries to bend them, the digits throbbing with pain. But as he moves he feels a gentle hand push him back down before a blanket is tucked securely under his chin.

"W-who are you?" stutters Ban as he watches a tall, shadowy figure move away from him. His gaze pans out to take in his surroundings. A cobbled stone floor, a wooden table and chairs, a large bed set in the middle of the room. The place is welcoming, clean, very different from the home he has been used to but, despite the apparent comfort he does not put his guard down. The space is awash with the glow of a blazing fire which he is positioned near to atop of a comfortable mound of sheets and blankets.

The figure turns and Ban cannot suppress a flinch as he beholds hard, amber eyes in a thin face framed with long, dark hair and sporting a wry smile. She towers over him, taller than any woman he can remember. She looks cold, _intimidating._ He pulls away, shrinking back from the physical assault he anticipates, closing his eyes as he prepares for the blow.

And yet, nothing comes. After a few moments he gathers his courage and opens his eyes, just a crack at first then as wide as they will go as he observes the lady removing a vessel of water from over the fire. She carefully pours the contents into two clay mugs, the liquid steaming in swirls above the cups as she hands one to Ban with a smile.

He wants to refuse, his instinct telling him to run. But, the smell is too good and has his mouth watering in seconds. Unable to stop himself, he slams the hot liquid down his throat, his face contorting as his tongue burns.

"Easy now," she murmurs, ruffling his hair affectionately. "There is plenty more where that came from, child, no need to rush. Here, savour it this time." She smiles as she hands him another mug. He inhales and the aroma of spice, sugar and something he cannot place floats up to him. This time he sips, swirling the drink round his mouth before giving in and taking deep gulps.

"This is called chocolate," she says with a smile as she refills his mug with molten brown liquid. "You will not have tasted it before." Ban chokes slightly as he nods his agreement, but safe as he feels he cannot help flinch as she stands up straight, his muscles clenching in preparation for flight. He relaxes slightly as she moves towards the table, her purple travelling robe swishing behind her hypnotically. She places a large hunk of crusty bread, slices of cheese and apple on a plate methodically. His eyes grow wide, locking in on the food, following each grape on its journey as it drops from her fingers.

"Where do you come from?" asks the woman as she sets the food down in front of him. He grabs at it, tearing the bread apart with his teeth, swallowing without chewing as he inhales the meal. The lady looks down at him, her lips pressed together before she brings another plate of food over along with a large glass of water.

Ban gulps the liquid greedily, feeling an uncomfortable lump in his throat as he gratefully swallows the water. "Nowhere~" he replies casually, letting his voice drawl in a sing song lilt. The tactic has often served him well: in his experience, most adults give up on questions if made to think they are not taken seriously.

"Now come, you can tell me. There is nothing to worry about." Ban looks at her skeptically as he continues to chew. With the edge taken off of his hunger, the more clearly he can think, and the more he mulls over what is happening the more uneasy he feels. The woman laughs suddenly, startling him from his thoughts. Her smile so genuine he cannot help but feel less anxious.

"I can see you do not trust me, young man. And nor should you without reason. I will explain," she says as she pours him more water. "I am searching for a fabled child, one who will save the whole of Britannia, and I have reason to suspect that you may be who I am looking for."

Ban chokes, coughing wildly as he struggles to breathe. "You have an extraordinary amount of magical power," the stranger explains, "and you fulfil the other signs foretold by the prophecy. _A gifted child from a dangerous home will be the one to wield the sword and save Britannia._ So tell me, if you would be so kind, where is it that you come from?"

"Like I said. Nowhere." His tone is more belligerent now as he returns her kindly gaze with his own hard stare. His senses are on full alert, and with a quick dart of his eyes he assesses the room more closely. The door he needs is to his right, past his captor and the roaring fire. There are no weapons to speak of; only a long, serrated knife on the table - which he will also need to pass the woman to get to. Not ideal, but not an impossible feat. He tenses, ready to spring.

"Would you like to know what your magic is?" asks the woman as a thin eyebrow quirks. He suddenly stills, terrified, frightened as he has only been a few times in his life. Something is reaching for him, invisible crackles of energy in the air. He gasps in surprise as something within him answers the call, the energy he feels building and sparking in the ends of his finger, little bursts of fire at the tips.

She continues monotonously, a tinge of interest tipped on her lips, "Your power is very close to being unlocked. Just concentrate on the sensation, relax and let it build. When you are ready, release it and we will see what happens."

Ban does as she suggests, trying to ignore the feeling of excitement that makes his heart beat all too quickly and his breathing come in shallow pants. He recalls the Holy Knights he has seen patrolling the streets, his mouth agape as they sent out streaks of blues, golds and emeralds to light up the sky. They had looked so confident, so comfortable with themselves and their life of ease their power had won them. Then he chastises himself, reminding himself forcefully that it will never work, that this is all a lie. What is it his dad always used to say when he would ask if he one day might also use magic? He is a nothing, a _nobody,_ a complete waste of space. How can he of all people have such magic as this?

And yet even as he tells himself the whole thing is stupid he feels something, an almost unbearable prickling all over his body. Maybe it is a trick after all. His eyes once more dart to the table as the woman moves closer to him to peer at him as if he is some kind of shiny trinket. _He needs to get the knife_! It is the only way to his freedom. Resolved, he prepares to duck under her legs and run for it, only to be blocked as she takes another step closer.

To his amazement, a cracking string of magenta whips from his fingers, snaking around the stranger. The knife is in his hand before he can process what has happened. The light he has created vanishes instantly, leaving a faint smell of charcoal blowing in the air. The woman nods her head slightly, her body completely still but Ban can feel her exhilaration just the same.

"That was remarkable," the woman breathes and Ban sees her arms relax at her sides. "I have never seen such control in so young a child. Perhaps, _finally,_ you are the one I have been seeking. After all these centuries…" Ban gasps involuntarily at this but before he can fully take in what woman has said she goes on, "Come, we must test this hypothesis immediately."

She raises her arms, a deep mulberry shimmer forming before them, engulfing them in an instant. Ban hears a sharp click as a wind pulls at his clothes, whipping his hair all around him but without the usual accompanying cold as the landscape shifts. The glow of the fire is replaced with the golden orb of the sun, the charcoal scent of his magic changed to wet grass and roses. Dew brushes on his skin as birds call cheerfully to one another in the surrounding birch trees which frame a lake that shines before him, the surface a perfect sheet of silver. His eyes twinkle in wonder as he looks up amazed at the woman standing beside him.

"Where are we?" he tries to demand but his voice comes out small.

She rests a hand on his shoulder, guiding him gently as they approach the calm water. "This is Lake Nimue," she explains calmly as they reach the edge of the bank, "and I have lost something in here. I would like you to see if you can retrieve it for me.

"Use your power," the woman says as Ban looks at her doubtfully. "If you are the one I am seeking the object will come to you."

He wants to argue, or run, or both, but the atmosphere is too peaceful, the smile on the lady's face too genuine for this to be a trap. And he has nothing to lose, what harm can it do to try? Ban does has instructed, stretching out his powers into the water, purple and grey melding together as the tendrils dive into the lake. He feels something as if it is in his own hands, a weight of cold metal, and he pulls with all his might, every muscle in his body straining as a great sword of enormous length rises into the air.

He grins, pulling harder on the object, looking up at the woman for approval, only for him to lose his grip in excitement. He tightens his hold, tugging with all his strength but the metal slides back below the surface without so much as a splash. Exhausted, he collapses onto the ground, panting furiously and feeling the prickle of tears behind his eyes. He rubs his face angrily, biting down on his jaw as he tears up handfuls of grass, crushing the blades in his clenched fists.

"Do not worry child," the woman says sadly and he is surprised to find her sitting beside him. "It is not your fault. That sword can be pulled by the chosen one and no other. You came closer than anyone else I have met in all of my travels. You have a bright destiny ahead of you."

He swallows hard, unable to respond, the lump in his throat growing ever more painful. "I wish I could look after you," the woman muses and his heart skips a beat as he looks into her face. He sees an intense sadness, one recognised only by another who has loved and lost as he had. Her mouth pulls down at the corners and her eyes fixed on the verdant ground. "But it is impossible."

She smiles, face determined. "I will however provide you with this spell of protection," she says, her voice acquiring a hardened edge. "It will keep you safe and help you achieve what you set out to accomplish. Your power will do the rest." As she speaks Ban feels a warmth spreading all through his body, the sensation is pleasant, chasing away all his aches and pains, leaving him feeling drowsy. He yawns involuntarily as his eyelids grow comfortably heavy, and he can feel himself beginning to succumb to the pleasantries of rest.

"You will remember none of this," he hears in the distance as he begins to give way to the blessing of sleep. "Tell me your name child. I will watch over you."

"It's Ban," he manages to murmur before the world fades to black.

He wakes under the bridge. It is comfortably warm, the sun having risen some hours before judging by the position of the great sphere in the sky. It was nothing like the bitter cold he had felt the previous day, a welcome contrast. The river runs past him, small leaves and bubbles of foam swirling on its surface in a lazy dance while insects buzz around as they feed.

He slowly gets to his feet to look around, only to notice the town he has run from is not far away. The familiar smell of fresh baked bread wafts to him on the breeze but, for some reason, he is not as hungry as he expects to be. Though who knew when the opportunity of the next meal would present itself. Furtively, he scurries along the path, keeping to the shadows as the bustle of commerce sounds in his ears. He peers round a corner, his fingertips scraping lightly on rough stone as he watches crowds gather around the stalls of food: fresh fish, pastries and large bunches of herbs all being touted for sale.

He is just contemplating risking a venture into the street when he feels something crackle in the tips of his fingers. He stares at his hands in fascination as tendrils of magenta shoot out, weaving through the legs of the shoppers. A moment later they return to him to place a large sticky bun in his outstretched hand. Scared, he hides it quickly under his ragged coat before waiting with tensed muscles for the shout and the chase. But there is nothing: the market continues to function, the calls of prices and the tread of feet on the ground are uninterrupted by yElla and cries of "thief". Ban smiles to himself as he licks his sticky fingers; perhaps things will be alright after all.

With a shake of the head Merlin watches as Ban collapses on the ground in a stupor. It had been years since she had first encountered him, a battered and beaten child. And yet, here he stood, on the battlefield, a grown man with all the marks of a hard life intact.

She hears the shouts of King and Diane as they finally manage to deal with their opponents, the small goblin and the large brute of a vampire being sent to oblivion, despite their loss of strength. She tuts, eyes rolling upwards as she transports the Fox Sin back to Liones, mercifully out of harm's way once more.

As he disappears she wonders if she should have intervened, to try to save the man from the life he had led. It was not only Ban of course, there had been others, all cold and hungry and dressed in rags. But Ban was different for a number of reasons, first because his power was so very advanced. And second, because of how badly his life had turned out.

She had frozen, her heart thumping like lead in her chest when she saw the man who would be the Fox Sin emerge from prison: the humma who had burned down the Fairy King's forest and killed the Holy Saint. She had known in an instant that it could not be true, but Ban had clearly been through hell. She had wanted, still wants, to ask what he had experienced, but knows enough to hold her tongue.

There had been too many: too many promising children with parents who were abusive or absent or just overwhelmed. She had tried in the beginning, attempted to provide a stable loving home, to put food on the table and love in their hearts. And it had all been too much: try as she might she could not take care of them all and there were always others who needed her help.

Eventually she had decided that it could not be done, and had instituted a rule for herself that all the children she found who were not the one she sought would receive a boost but no long term assistance. The best way to alleviate their suffering was to find the chosen one and train him for his destiny. And even now she knows this is right. But as she recalls the way Ban had looked when he appeared before her in Liones, eyes hollow with pain despite the broad smile plastered to his face, she wonders yet again if she has done the right thing.


End file.
